Louisville is the home of the greatest 2 minutes in sports. The Kentucky Derby. When I was younger and more inclined to wallow in mud and get drunk and put up with crowds of white trash like myself, going to the Kentucky Derby was my dream. Now that I'm old and hate crowds even more than I used to just seeing the home of the Derby is enough.
Churchill Downs lies just off the interstate and right past the University of Louisville, its football stadium and its baseball stadium and oh yeah, its campus. The place is huge. To get a tour of the track you must buy an admission to the Derby Museum where you see all the Secretariat memorabilia you can handle. You can "ride" in a virtual horse race. You can call a race. You can watch any Derby you wish. 1973 please. You see a wraparound 4D movie that takes you backside at the Derby from dawn to dusk.
But what you really need to do is walk on the hallowed ground where Secretariat walked. Walk up the tunnel where Secretariat probably took a dump. Walk on the apron of the track. See the Twin Spires (much smaller than I thought).Stand in the winners circle. Its fantastic. I just wish the track had been in session and I could've stayed for just one race.
The Louisville Slugger Museum lies in downtown Louisville on what they call "museum row". When I played baseball in my younger years, back in the wooden bats era (yes I am very old), the Louisville Slugger signed by various ball players was a must. I remember loving a 34 inch Boog Powell model until some idiot teammate of mine broke it. Seeing how bats are still made, touring the actual factory, and getting a mini bat made the hour or so well worth it. I was thinking of getting a personalized bat for myself, but when would I ever use it unless theres some Older Than Dirt League out there.
The road trip continued through Kentucky and into Ohio where we stopped in a sleepy town called St Claires Shores. Up a hill to a hotel, errrr motel with drive up service to your door. It was classy. With a busted toilet, a small bed and neighbors who loved to leave their truck running, it was the perfect place to pull the covers up over your head and hope for the best. By best I mean not being shot by some bootlegger runnin from Revenuers.
Day 3 in the books.
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